Stressbaking
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Kurt has a secret, and he doesn't care if it goes straight to his pear-shaped hips. Finn's just happy he gets brownies out of the deal. Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

He glanced up from the television long enough to glance at the time on his cell phone. "Puck, it's seven o'clock," he said into his Xbox headset.

"Good job, moron, you can tell time."

"No, I mean it's seven, and I don't remember if I ever stopped to eat lunch," Finn said.

"Oh. That sucks."

"Give me like half an hour," Finn said, mashing the buttons on his wireless controller. "I'll be back."

"Whatever. Santana's been bugging me. Better answer her texts before she comes over here."

Finn dropped the controller on Kurt's neatly-dusted coffee table and headed upstairs. _Mom's probably got something for dinner, _he thought. _Maybe meatloaf. Yeah…meatloaf._

But the kitchen didn't smell like meatloaf. And his mother wasn't even there. Instead, there was Kurt, a sky blue apron tied over his tight jeans and designer tee shirt. He didn't notice Finn approach, and kept on beating the contents of a yellow ceramic bowl with a large wooden spoon.

"What are you doing?" Finn asked.

"Huh?" Kurt said, startled. His hair stuck up at all different angles, and a long smear of white powder ran across his right cheek.

"Is that for dinner?"

Kurt pulled the bowl away from Finn's vicinity, hugging it to his chest defensively. "No," he said. "You can get your own food."

Finn glanced around. "Where's Mom?" he asked.

"It's Saturday."

"Huh?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Our parents always go out on a date on Saturday," he explained. "They won't be back until late."

Finn blinked. "How'm I going to eat?" he wondered aloud.

"You're a big boy, Finn, I'm sure you can come up with something," Kurt huffed.

He continued to beat the wooden spoon in the bowl's contents. Finn tried to peek over the rim. "Stop that!" Kurt scolded, yanking it away.

"What is that?" Finn asked.

Kurt stomped over to the other side of the kitchen, dropped the bowl on the counter, and continued stirring furiously. "It is none of your business, Finn Hudson," he said.

Finn snuck up behind him and dipped his finger into the batter. Kurt made a noise that could only be described as a snarl. Finn licked his finger. "It tastes like chocolate," he said. "Are you making a cake?"

Kurt mumbled something.

"What?"

"Brownies! I'm making brownies, okay?"

Finn stared at him. "But you don't eat crap like that," he said. "You're always getting mad at your dad for eating sweet stuff and junk food. And I don't think I've seen you eat a carb like, ever."

Kurt tossed the mixing spoon into the bowl; it sank into the viscous liquid like a shoe getting sucked into a swamp. "There are exceptions to every rule," he said haughtily.

Finn stuck another finger into the bowl. "That's really good," he said. "Is that from a mix?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Mixes are for soccer moms and lazy people," he said, lifting his chin. "Of course I made it from scratch."

He set down the yellow bowl, picked up a small green one, and dumped cocoa powder in it. "How'd you learn to bake?" Finn asked.

"My mother," Kurt said shortly.

Finn leaned his elbows on the counter. "Was she good at it?" he asked.

"Of course."

Finn watched as Kurt poured honey and a few drops of milk into the bowl. "Dude, don't you measure?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged. "My mom never did," he said. "Truly good cooks don't have to, I suppose."

He turned over a bag of powdered sugar and patted it until the white powder drifted into the bowl. It rose around him like a cloud. "So…are you making brownies just for fun, or what?" Finn asked.

Kurt paused, one hand still clutching his rubber scraper. He bit his lip, as if he was mentally debating, and finally used his cooking implement to point across the kitchen.

Finn glanced in the direction he was pointing. A large soft cover book was spread open, the pages pinned down by a wooden spoon rest shaped like a duck. He marked the page with his hand and turned it to look at the cover. "ACT Prep Course," he read. He looked up, frowning. "Dude. ACTs?"

"Yes."

"They're in April."

"I know."

"Dude. It's October."

"One can never be too prepared."

Finn paused, trying to connect the dots. "Are you stressed out about the ACTs already?" he guessed.

Kurt wheeled around and began viciously beating the frosting together. "I have to do well," he said.

"Kurt, you're really smart," Finn said. "You're going to be fine."

"You don't understand, Finn," Kurt said. "If I fail my ACTs, I won't be eligible for a performance scholarship at NYU. If I can't get a performance scholarship at NYU, there's no way I can go, because I am _not _asking my dad to pay for it. And if I don't go to NYU, I'll be stuck at Ohio State. And if I get stuck at Ohio State, I'll have to settle for a vocal performance degree that I'll never use, because I'll just end up back here in Lima, working at my dad's garage and uploading pathetic videos of myself singing onto Youtube like Rachel Berry."

"I think she uses Myspace," Finn mused.

"Fine! Myspace! Which is worse, because, really, who uses Myspace in this day and age!"

Finn studied Kurt. His blue-green eyes had gotten very large and very wide, which was slightly unnerving, and his fair skin had gone all blotchy. Finn had recently managed to learn that when Kurt's face got like that, he was either A) pissed off or B) going to cry.

_Don't let him cry,_ he thought. _I don't think I can do dudes crying._

"Kurt, I really don't think you have to worry about it," he finally said, trying to come up with the best way of talking him down. Kurt had tensed his shoulders and pressed his lips together tightly, and Finn had enough experience with a highstrung girlfriend to know that tears were not very far away. "I mean, you're really smart and you work really hard. Even if you somehow manage to bomb your ACTs, wouldn't your GPA be high enough to balance it out?"

Kurt relaxed slightly. "I suppose," he said.

"And there's always student loans," Finn added.

"I guess."

"And part-time jobs."

"Mm-hm." Kurt started to relax his death grip on the rubber scraper. "I suppose there are always other options if my ACT score isn't quite high enough." He paused. "Wait. What is it _is _high enough, but I fail my audition?"

Finn groaned.

"I'll walk in and drop my script! Or I'll flub a note! Or I'll forget my monologue! Or-"

"Kurt!" Finn interrupted. "You have like two more years till college crap! Worry about it then!"

"Oh," Kurt said. He blinked and returned to stirring the frosting for the brownies. "I suppose it can wait."

Finn watched him for a minute. "So…what do brownies have to do with worrying about ACT tests?" he asked.

Kurt sighed and brushed his hair off his forehead with the back of his arm. "I'm a stress baker," he confessed. "When I'm stressed, I bake."

"Seriously?" Finn said. "That's kind of awesome."

Kurt put the frosting bowl down. "Only for a little while," he said, grimacing. "See, I have a tendency to…go a little overboard."

Finn frowned. "I don't get it," he said.

"This isn't my first batch of brownies," Kurt said.

"Dude, you ate a whole pan of 'em?"

"No, I had a _bowl _of them."

"You mean you…" Finn paused. "Oh."

Kurt leaned his elbows on the counter and put his head in his hands. "I knew this was going to come back to haunt me," he said.

"If you're going to throw up, don't do it here."

"I'm fine," he mumbled through his fingers. "At least I don't…ugh. I knew I was going to regret this."

Kurt picked up the bowl of brownie batter and thrust it into Finn's hands. "Pour this into that pan and bake for twenty minutes," he said. He untied his apron and dropped it over the back of a kitchen chair. "I'll be downstairs."

Kurt stumbled away. Finn stared at the bowl of chocolatey goop in his hands. "Kurt, my mom doesn't let me use the oven," he called.

"What?"

"I mean, after the shoe incident…"

"Finn! A six-year-old could do this!"

The basement door slammed. Finn shrugged and dumped the contents of the bowl into the square glass baking dish, then stuck it in the oven and set the timer. He could hear water running downstairs.

_If he had to hurl, I hope it wasn't on my side of the room, _he thought.

He picked up Kurt's ACT prep book and flipped through it idly. "Ravens appear to behave _blank_, actively helping one another to find food," he read aloud. "A) mysteriously, B) warily, C) aggressively, D) cooperatively, E) defensively."

He stared at it. "Is cooperatively even a word?"

_Oh, man, _he thought. _I guess _I'd _better start studying._

Finn skimmed through the book until his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and checked the text message.

_Put frosting on brownies when they come out of the oven. _

He glanced over at the timer. One minute left. He set the book down and opened the oven door, but his phone buzzed again.

_It's hot. Use a potholder. Don't be dumb._

Finn rolled his eyes, picked up a potholder, and pulled the glass pan out of the oven just as the timer sounded. The scent of warm chocolate was almost intoxicating. He poured the thick, syrupy frosting over the top; it melted as it touched the warm surface and spread easily.

Finn gazed longingly at the warm dessert. "Should I wait?" he mused aloud. He dipped his finger in the warm frosting and tasted it. "Um, no, I don't think so."

He eagerly cut into the warm brownie and dropped a good-sized chunk of it onto a small plate. Frosting oozed everywhere. He poured a huge glass of milk, picked up the plate, and carried his dinner triumphantly downstairs.

Kurt was curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled over him until only the top of his head was visible. He had switched the television from the Xbox to the DVD player, and watching an episode of one his favorite canceled TV shows.

Finn frowned. "I was playing Halo with Puck," he objected.

"Bite me, Frankenteen," Kurt said, his voice muffled by the blanket. "Let me watch this in peace, or the next time I throw up, it'll be on your Xbox."

Finn rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the couch, nudging Kurt's bare feet out of his way. "Whatcha watching?"

"Television."

Finn picked up the brownie and took a huge bite. "Oh mah gah, Kurt," he mumbled. "So good."

"Thank you."

Finn swallowed and wiped the frosting off his mouth with the back of his hand. "No, seriously, it's really good," he said. "You should get stressed out more often."

"Gee, thanks."

Kurt's phone buzzed, skittering across the coffee table. "Are you going to get that?" Finn asked.

"You get it."

"It's your phone."

"You're eating my brownies."

He picked it up and hit talk. "Kurt's phone, this is Finn," he said.

"Let me talk to Kurt."

Finn moved the receiver away from his mouth. "It's Mercedes," he said.

"Put her on speaker," Kurt said.

Finn hit the speaker button and held the phone between the two of them. "Hey, Mercedes, you're on speakerphone," he said.

"Kurt, Tina and I are going to the movies. You wanna come?" He pushed the blankets back a little. "No, I'm busy," he said.

"Busy doing what?"

"He made brownies," Finn said around a mouthful.

"Kurt Hummel! Are you stress baking?"

He shrank into the couch cushions. "No…" he said.

"Yes, you are," Mercedes said. "Is this anything like the strawberry cupcakes incident?"

Kurt managed to shrink further. "Maybe," he hedged.

Finn leaned closer to the phone. "I don't know about that, but he definitely OD'd on brownie batter," he said.

"Kurt!"

"What?"

"Don't get snippy with me. You're freaked out about something," Mercedes said.

Kurt sat up. "I'm channeling my fear into anger," he said haughtily.

"Yeah, well, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to stress baking," Mercedes said. "Stress baking the people you love!"

"Or the dark side," Finn added.

Kurt frowned. "What?" he whispered.

"The dark side. Like in Star Wars."

"What?"

"Never mind."

They could hear Mercedes talking to someone on her end. "Okay, Tina and I are coming over," she announced. "You are _not _going to sit around feeling sorry for yourself and eating all those cupcakes."

"Brownies," Finn corrected. "And they're delicious."

"Whatever. See you in twenty minutes."

Kurt pulled the blankets back over himself as the phone call ended. Finn prodded his knee. "What was the strawberry cupcake incident?" he asked.

Kurt, already quite pale, somehow managed to turn slightly green. "You don't want to know," he said.

"No, really," Finn persisted. "Tell me."

"It was before regionals," Kurt said. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes the size of dinner plates. "I might have made a double batch of strawberry cupcakes. And…I might have eaten all of them."

Finn poked him in the knee again. "And?"

"And did you know that it's possible for vomit to turn bright pink?"

"I don't- oh."

"And when I mean pink, I mean Barbie dream house pink."

"That's disgusting."

"Tell me about it."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I've been writing so much angst lately that it's nice to take a break and write something lighthearted and funny! And also bromancey. So much fun. I think Finn is one of the easiest characters to write.

I got this idea last night, because it was eleven o'clock and I suddenly found myself jonesing for something chocolate. We had nothing I could just grab, so I whipped up brownies. And my mind started drifting...and the next thing I knew I was writing this.

This is also a huge reference to one of my favorite TV shows, the prematurely canceled Pushing Daisies. Ned is a stressbaker, and the line about "fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to stressbaking" is actually from the Robbing Hood episode. Pushing Daisies is also the show that Kurt is watching, because I can just see him enjoying it.

And if you've never seen it, give it a try. It's awesome.

And one last (slightly gross) note...barf actually can turn bright Barbie pink. I know. I worked at Disney World for four years. It was like 9:30 am, and a little girl hurled Barbie pink all over the theater before the first show of the morning. It was disgusting. And I really want to know what on earth that child ate in order to make her do that so early in the morning! C'mon, mom, don't give your eight-year-old cotton candy for breakfast, even if you are on vacation.

In any case, please let me know what you think of this oneshot! And if you have any other ideas for me to write! I absolutely love writing Glee stuff...it's kind of awesome.


End file.
